


Schwester Charlotte’s Russian-German Dictionary

by MakLeon



Category: Unsere Mütter unsere Väter | Generation War
Genre: Berlin (City), Bund Deutscher Mädel, Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, German Red Cross, No Fluff, Post-World War II, Russian army, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakLeon/pseuds/MakLeon
Summary: In the world where black and white have long ago been reversed, Charly is learning bright colors. Pre-, while-, and post-WW II mash-up of events, memories, and people.





	1. Dictionary Entry 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m planning this as mostly Charly’s (and partly Wilhelm’s) survival/coming-together story in the form of series of episodes. The narrative is not straight (there will be a few flashbacks and flashforwards). Obviously, many references to the TV series, and elements of German and Russian socio-culture. 
> 
> It’s going to be somewhat different from my previous UMUV fic, so I’m a bit self-conscious about it, but I’m hoping you might still enjoy this new fic. Your feedback (both Kudos and Booes) is most welcome.

**In the end you don't so much find yourself**

**as you find someone who knows who you are.**

_Robert Brault_

 

 

**Dictionary Entry 1: _Sovest’ – das Gewissen -  conscience, shame, moral sense of responsibility for one’s actions_ **

 

Lying on the dusty floor in the former doctor Jahn’s office among the scattered folders and papers, Charlotte Weiss – Charly as Wilhelm once used to call her, and his voice was then soft and brimming with quiet joy as if her name was some magic spell straight out of childhood fairy tales – thinks that her name must be a terrible mistake[1]. Somehow she does not feel white and pure at all. All inside her is the color of dull dusty grey and brownish-green – the color of hospital bed sheets and curtains. The color of the Russian soldiers’ uniforms. The color of swamps and mud by the hospital porch where once trucks and military tents stood. Charly does not believe she will ever be able to see the world in bright colors again. It seems to her that from now on everything will be greenish-grey and dark-brownish red.

_„Die haben mich gefragt, was nach dem Dritten Reich kommt._ _Nichts mehr.” **[2]**_

It cannot be happening to her. She is hardly supposed to be here, is she? She has always tried to do what is right. The best grades at school. One of the most active members of Bund Deutcher Mädel[3]. Ex-Mädelscharführerin[4]. One of the most dedicated nurses. Never to shrink away from hard work – not Krankenschwester[5] Charlotte.

 It is Hildegard who could slip away from duty when the headnurse and doctor Jahn were not around Her smooth round face and insolent dark eyes. Smirking slightly. Some recovering warrior’s hand discreetly sliding along her back.

Those same dark eyes getting angry, rebellious, and fearful. Searching intently for something in Charly’s face. Searching and not finding.

_“Wenn wir den Krieg verlieren, kannst du dich vorstellen was sie werden mit uns machen?” **[6]**_

Hildegard is a little ferret or a squirrel in the trap. Biting and scratching because she is scared. Since the very beginning. Since the very first soldier dying in her trained and yet so helpless arms. The fact that this strange Charlotte does not seem to be afraid – flirting with doctor Jahn (the old fool!), fussing with this ugly Russian girl, diligently learning her Russian, (silly bitch, does she think learning the enemy’s language will save her or what?) - makes Hildegard envious and even more mad with fear.

Hildegard believes that she performs her duty when spying on Charlotte and meticulously jotting down her many crimes. Stealing out of doctor Jahn’s office – all flustered and rosy-cheeked – and fixing her garters. Pouring acid onto the soldier’s wound so as to postpone his not so gallant death on the battlefield by a few more weeks. Hildegard thinks Charlotte deserves punishment for undermining military morale. What Hildegard will never admit though is that she would have given anything to have this goody-goody’s ability to always find the light – even in the darkest darkness.

Charly has been taught that bad things cannot happen to good girls. Is she bad then? Is Hildegard bad? What about Sonja?

_“Sie sind Sklaven. Die Herren machen mit ihnen was sie wollen. Kaufen. Verkaufen. Wir unsere eigenen Leute behandelen so schlecht.”_

_“Ja. Das können wir Deutchen auch.” **[7]**_

This little Russian girl with her scarred face. Doomed, resigned, no longer afraid. The little slave of the embittered nurses such as Hildegard in the German hospital. The little puppet left behind when no longer needed.

Russian soldiers call Sonja a traitress and shoot her at the back yard for nursing the enemy soldiers. Hildegard thinks Charlotte a traitress for trying to win over their very own German soldiers’ lives. Wilhelm is branded a traitor and sent to the penal battalion because he has gotten sick and tired of killing Russians and no longer wants to lead his subordinates into the lost battle… The list of culprits is never-ending. Sometimes Charly simply wants to scream. What’s the matter with all of them? When has staying alive become a treachery? When has wanting to save people’s lives become a crime?

Charly raises herself on her elbow – her once white apron crinkled and torn, her face smeared with tears and dirt, her hair disheveled. The tender insides of her thighs bruised and burning. Her eyes burning from the light streaming through the window panels. Her heart burning from the injustice and fruitlessness of all her efforts. Who is she now? The once brave ex-Bund Deutcher Mädel shaking and hiccupping – waiting here, curled on the cold dusty floor, for the Russians to come and blow her brains out. The lover who has betrayed her heart twice – first, when she believed that Wilhelm was dead and turned to doctor Jahn, and second time, when she refused Wilhelm his right to live because it pained her too much – to hope again and lose all hope. The good girl who let her patients and her helpless subordinate be shot in front of her eyes. The nurse who cannot help even herself.

When does Charly first notice that the right and wrong have reversed?

_“Syestra, pomogite mne **[8]**.”_

_“We don’t even have enough morphine for our own men. Turn on the radio, Schwester Charlotte.”_

Tired understanding and strict order in doctor Jahn’s eyes. The singer’s vaguely familiar voice gently cradling her kleines Herz’s pain. As the Russian soldier’s eyes glaze over, Charly absent-mindedly washes her hands and does not even realize it is her old friend Greta singing on the radio.

The look in doctor Jahn’s eyes is similar to the look Lilja gives Charlotte as the SS soldiers lead her away. It’s not your fault, and not mine either, the Russian-Jewish doctor in disguise seems to say with her eyes only. We both have done what we think is right. Yet, this quiet understanding somehow hurts Charly more than any open accusation could.

_“Warum helfen Sie uns? Den Gegnern?”_

_„Ich helfe Menschen. Das machen Sie auch, oder?” **[9]**_

Menschen. The word is the key for the lock. For yet three more years, it keeps her going. Schwester Charlotte makes herself function not because it is right or wrong but because it is people she is doing this for. People have to survive. It is her job to help them by any means possible. The rest does not matter.

That is why when doctor Jahn offers Charlotte the pass that can magically take her away from this living hell of bloody bandages, dying soldiers, and recovering soldiers who are taken back to the forefront – from this 24/7 transporter of cannon fodder whose only purpose seems to be turning the almost dead people into the living dead – bring her into the relatively safe heaven, all she says is. 

_“I’m supposed to turn my back on all of you here?”_

…and that is why when the army tracks roar echoing the distant sound of explosions – both outvoiced by the radio loudspeaker – “Unsere Soldaten… kein Pardon…”[10],  and that same doctor Jahn leaves the patient on the surgical table with the wound cut wide open,  and Hildegard rushes to the exit – her hands still bloody and her eyes wild, Schwester Charlotte violently pulls out the radio cord and runs for the little scar-faced and scar-souled Russian nurse…

… and that is why now, in the bright morning-light, when the door to doctor Jahn’s former office finally bangs open, and the Russian-Jewish female officer casually places the Russian military uniform on the desk, Charlotte does not leap at her chance. Instead, her grey-blue eyes – bewildered, questioning, and yet clear – lock with Lilja’s dark, coldly righteous, and yet forgiving stare.

_“Zachem ty eto delayesh’?”_

_“Inache eto nikogda ne zakonchitsa.” **[11]**_

When alone in the office, Charly slowly touches the rough sleeve of her new nurse uniform. The color of greyish-brownish-green. It suddenly occurs to her that this is hardly the color of swamps and decay. More like the stubbles of new grass barely peeking through the mud in the spring field.

 

[1] Weiss = white (German)

[2] They asked me what comes after the Third Reich. Nothing (words from the movie – here and further on italisized)

[3] League of German Girls or BDM (female branch of the Hitler youth)

[4] Mädelscharführerin – the head of the four squads of BDM (each consisting of 10 girls)

[5] nurse

[6] When we lose this war, can you imagine what they will do to us?

[7] \- They are slaves. The masters do with what they want. They sell them. We treat our own people so badly.

     - Yes, we Germans can do so as well.

[8] Nurse, help me

[9]\-  Why are you helping us? The enemy?

      - I help people. That’s what you do too, don’t you?

[10] Our soldiers… no mercy…

[11] \-  Why are you doing this?

     - Otherwise, it will never be over. 


	2. Dictionary Entry 2

 

**Dictionary entry 2: _Lyubov’ – die Liebe - feeling of strong attachment to someone_**

****  
a time to search and a time to give up,  
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,  
a time to tear and a time to mend,  
    a time to be silent and a time to speak

**Ecclesiastes 3: 6-7**

 

At 2 pm sharp Charly pauses at the doorstep of the little abandoned pub. It surely does not matter that she has been standing outside for what seemed as at least half an hour, or that as she pushes the door, her heart leaps into her throat and then moans in response to the squeaky door hinges.  Slowly but decisively she shuffles through the rubble on the floor. Although she looks at Viktor first – Alive. Not maimed. Is it gray in his hair? Already? - her eyes are again and again drawn back to that other man on her left.

If Viktor’s face is both bitter and somewhat relieved at the sight of her, Wilhelm’s expression is much harder to read. Expectant? Unforgiving? Or plain tired?

_“Auf Friedhelm und Greta.”_

Charly gulps her brandy. The dust from the dirty glass grates on her teeth and sticks to her palate. Her eyes water, and Wilhelm’s pale strained face blurs in her vision.

**…Until the day Wilhelm comes back from Poland, she has never thought much of him – her friend and best partner in crime…**

As children, they chase each other to school and back joined by cherubic Friedhelm, ever-sanguine Greta, the only daughter of  the hairdresser, whose fashionable haircut and clothes are an object of envy of all local Frauen, and sharp-eyed Viktor. Friedhelm hopelessly lags behind – trying to read and jog at the same time. The road to school and in-between the classes is the only time he can actually indulge in his reading, since Vater takes no such nonsense at home. Greta would have been quite good if she did not stop by each shop window to admire the dresses on the mannequins or her own reflection. Wilhelm is a very fast runner but still, he is only second-best to Viktor. Viktor has to be the fastest – no choice for him - what with being the only Jew left in their class, and always with someone from the Deutsches Jungvolk[1] gang breathing down his neck. Charlotte though always runs head-to-head with two older boys - her elbows out – her heels evenly clicking on the pavement.

**…The problem with children is that they eventually do grow up...**

Shortly before Wilhelm leaves for Poland, Charly is appointed the head of Mädelschar.[2] Her four squads are among the best trained and disciplined in East Berlin. The camping trips, Landdienst Service[3], weekly meetings, sports events, and typist courses – Charly is very busy those days and often does not see her old friends for weeks. It is a good time though. Singing marching songs during a hike, waking up before the sunrise, and watching red fire sparks in the evenings. At the annual Bund Deutcher Mädel event, she receives her Ehrenurkunde[4] from the hands of the Gau leader[5] himself.

Back home, her mother smiles a bit sadly and her father frowns while Charly adds one more piece to the colorful tapestry of awards and certificates on the wall above her study desk. Friedhelm stops by after school and looking at her certificates, says cryptically.

“Our vanity would have just that which we do best count as that which is hardest for us.”

Charly knows him too well to get offended and only asks suspiciously.

“It’s not from a banned book, is it?”

Friedhelm grins.

“Aber natürlich. If one wants to be safe, one always quotes Nietzsche.”

Greta winks at the certificate and says approvingly.

“At a girl.”

But her thoughts are far away from Charly’s new accomplishments. Viktor’s family does not fare well since the Krystallnacht. Her mom has got herself a new boyfriend – the member of the SA – and after many screaming-breaking dishes scenes, Greta moves out and gets a job and boarding at the local pub. Greta is used to having her own way. Rules are not written for her. She is the only girl at school who somehow weasels out of the Bund Deutcher Mädel membership. The only smoker even though the Führer himself detests girls who smoke and wear make-up. The only one who listens to jazz and swing. She dates Viktor, and Charly knows their relations are far from platonic. Other BDM girls in her troop (some of them are much younger than her) have boyfriends too... A couple of girls left the BDM shortly after returning pregnant from the Nuremberg rally last year, and no one but Charly’s mom and a couple of other old-fashioned parents thought less of them for that. After all, these were racially-pure children for the Reich.

This circumstance of their daily lives stirs something in Charly. In between her classes, her squads’ weekly meetings, and household work, or tossing and turning in her narrow bed at night, she constantly wonders what it would be like if someone… no, not just someone… let it be someone handsome… someone like Erich, her neighbor, a 20-something-year-old blond… no, somehow Erich doesn’t seem quite right… then maybe…

What ‘maybe’ - Charly never comes to close realization because Wilhelm is back for Christmas. A perfect personification of a warrior straight off the posters. No longer that mop-headed boy to play hide and seek with. When he first smiles at her with that new smile of his – knowing, confident, and a bit condescending, or so it seems to her, - it is as if all of them – Greta brimming over with excitement, taciturn lanky Viktor, baby Friedhelm, and tomboy Charly– are still children, and him, Wilhelm Winter of Greyhound Company, is the only one who understands something of real life. All of a sudden, her green lanyard[6] she has been so proud of seems not that big of a deal to Charly.

Next evening, he comes to pick Charly up from the weekly Mädelschar meeting – they are going to the New Year’s party at Greta’s place. While he is smoking and waiting for her outside, girls cluster by the window, point at him, glance at Charly, giggle, and whisper, and Charly for the first time ever notices how manly Wilhelm looks in his military uniform, and how his profile reminds her of Norse mythology heroes.

For the first time ever, she borrows a lipstick from one of the girls, hastily applies it in the semi-dark hallway, and then – changing her mind halfway through – wipes the make-up off and ends up smearing it all over her face. When she finally walks out, Wilhelm crushes his cigarette stub under his heel, turns, and says.

“Charly… endlich da[7].”

The way he says her name is somehow different now. His voice is deeper and softer, or so it seems to her.

They walk to Greta’s place, and for some reason, it takes them twice as long to get there. Charly discreetly trying to wipe off the last traces of her lipstick, blushing, and being unusually silent. Wilhelm striding widely, but stopping frequently and pointing out what has changed on Berlin streets since he last walked them. It is all before Poland and after Poland with him now. All about “our lads”, and “us marching”, and “them surrendering”.

Charly listens, and nods, and smiles, and sometimes says  something stupid like “yes, aren’t our troops the bravest ever?” or “you don’t say so!”, but all she can actually think of is how snowflakes glisten on his hair and long eyelashes.

Wilhelm glances at her once in while – quickly but intently - the way he scans the new billboards and construction sites on their way. Charly stumbles each time she catches his eye, slows down even more, and wishes they could somehow get lost. She would not mind rambling with him around the city for the whole night.

**…For the next two years, Wilhelm is in and out – Poland again, then France…**

 While he is away, Charly frequents the Winters. There is a map of military campaigns in Herr Winter’s office, and she often joins scowling reluctant Friedhelm for a lecture on the German troops across Belgium, France, and Poland. The same map – only smaller – hangs above her study desk next to the certificates and awards. The location of Wilhelm’s division is marked with a blue-green pin. The color of his eyes, Charly thinks, sighs, and sits down to write him a long letter but somehow she never can find the words and ends up sending off a postcard that says “Alles Gute zum Geburtstag[8]” or “Frohes Neues Jahr[9]”, and is signed “Deine[10] Charly”. Even writing this short word “deine” gives Charly chills up her back. She flushes and discreetly glances over her shoulder to make sure no one – not even her mom’s old cat – can oversee this moment of weakness in her.

She sends her postcards – always after week-long hesitation – and receives only one from him. The Eiffel Tower and a few words on the back. “Hallo von Paris. Ich hoffe es geht dir gut. Dein[11] W.”

When Wilhelm is in Berlin on his in-between-wars leave, it does not get any better or easier. If they are with the gang, she can talk to him, laugh, and make jokes all right. Yet, once in a while – when Greta and Viktor mysteriously disappear  half-way-through the evening, and Friedhelm has to do his homework - there are only two of them in the room, and there is this awkward silence when Charly flushes and becomes numb all inside, and Wilhelm smokes and talks as if not noticing what’s going on with her – how can he not notice? – or worse still, watches her with that peculiar half-gentle half-distant face expression.

Sometimes Charly thinks it is all her fault that Wilhelm still does not have any clue. She could never be as enticing, provocative, and charming as Greta. She is used to competing with boys – not playing with them or reading their thoughts. Sometimes she thinks that Wilhelm must surely know – since everyone else knows – Greta, Viktor, and even little Friedhelm – but does not say anything because he simply does not care for her in that way. But no, she says to herself, surely he must care. It’s just that now it is not the right time. Maybe, next time on his next leave she’ll tell him…

Meanwhile Charly joins the nursing program at the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz[12]. Campfires and parades are all good but she wants to do something meaningful. Something that will show  Wilhelm that he is not the only one who is keen on performing his duty to Vaterland.

**…There is no next time and no next leave to tell Wilhelm what she has been afraid to admit even to herself. There is war around them now...**

Not just a couple of months but four long bitter years. Each day and each dead man is yet another brick in the wall that seems to grow between her and Wilhelm.

Schwester Charlotte can now fix a dislocated shoulder, put stiches, or assist the doctor on a surgery with no morphine, yet she still cannot bring herself to openly talk to Wilhelm about her feelings. Instead, she pesters little sad Friedhelm who is slowly recovering from the thrashing his fellow soldiers gave him.

_“Spricht er manchmal von mir?” **[13]**_

Friedhelm watches her closely through his only working eye – another is only a bloody slit - and answers patiently.

_„Ja…“_

She sighs happily, stoops to briefly kiss his cheek, and flutters away to her dreams of Wilhelm and Christmas that will surely come one day.  

Everyone who sees them together seems to know at once. Friedhelm. Hildegard. Lilja.

 _“Männer nie wissen._ _Nur kämpfen.”_ [14]Her strong Russian accent underlining the finality of this statement.

After Wilhelm stares her down and bluntly turns to leave at Greta’s little party, Charly mutters these words over and over again under breath – like a spell – all evening long - until it seems that there is indeed no more love in her – only bitterness. He does not want her – didn’t he nearly say so? – too busy fighting. Well, she doesn’t need him either… Charly’s never been the one to run after boys – not her!

**…A week later later Friedhelm tells her that Wilhelm is dead…**

With time, Charly forgets what exactly Wilhelm told her and how he glanced at her that evening. She remembers only what she told him – “My patients are waiting!” - since those were the last words he had heard from her, and it was her who left the room first.

She holds up the crumpled photo. It hurts too much to look at Wilhelm, so she squints at herself – a pig-tailed smiling girl in the Bund Deutcher Mädel uniform blouse and skirt. She hardly know what she really cries for – Wilhelm, this girl on the photo and her beautiful dream of what could have been between them, or the whole nation of handsome boys in the uniform and pig-tailed girls who – when all this is over - will never see each other again.

Doctor Jahn is good to Charlotte. He is gentle, and, like they say in the novels that the Head nurse and Hildegard are so fond of reading, his caresses do sometimes stir up her flame. Lying next to him, long after he is asleep, Charlotte dully wonders why what seemed so unattainable with Wilhelm seems so easy and natural with Dr. Jahn. She hardly has any scruples when she kisses him or waits for him in the office. Is it because she does not care for doctor Jahn the way she cared for Wilhelm? Is it because a part of her heart has been left cold and empty after Wilhelm was no more? Schwester Charlotte knows only too well that it is physically impossible for a human heart to have a vacant space in it -  she’s been assisting with too many surgeries by now - and yet this knowledge does not prevent her from feeling empty deep inside…

When Charlotte sees Wilhelm again among destitute soldiers of the penal battalion – so small and skinny, with his ears protruding from under that ridiculous soldier’s cap, his nails dirty, and his eyes shining – when she hears her own name and quiet joy in his voice – that empty cold spot inside her fills in so quickly that her heart brims over. It hurts so much – as if she has just been freezing and is now plunged into scalding water.

She cries out, and it is hardly her fault that in her pain, she pushes him away – just as a child would push the chair that she has tripled over.

_“Nein. Du muss tot sein… Ich hab’ die ganze Zeit…” **[15]**_

At this very moment, Charly truly believes it would have indeed been better so. Anything – only not to have to live through this pain yet again…

His face distorted. His eyes… wretched, uncomprehending, beseeching…

She wants to tell him so much. I’ve been waiting for you all these years. For so long that I’ve lost all hope. It’s too late now. I’m no longer your Charly. I’ve betrayed myself – my own body. I’ve been through death, and you’ve been there too – you’re heading back there now…so what’s the point?

Instead, she whispers.

“I love you…”

Unwanted. These words that are finally coming out of her mouth. Empty.

She runs away, and sobs, and shakes clutching at the grimy stone wall of the hospital building.

She hears him calling for her. Desperately. Hopelessly.

Then he is gone.

She is left staring at the overturned wooden boxes  that served as chairs for the soldiers of the penal battalion.

**…Their very last words to one another. Until this very day – almost two years later – in the midst of the grey ruins of post-war Berlin, in this abandoned pub with its old posters on the walls and outdated warnings…**

_“Swing Tanzen Verboten.” **[16]**_

Who would want to swing-dance now?

Charly looks at her two friends. Viktor’s longish hair and torn jacket. Dark circles around Wilhelm’s eyes and his sharp cheekbones. Herself in her bangy pants.

“You know you are always welcome at our place.” Wilhelm says to Viktor. “In fact, why don’t you come with me right now? We have new tenants, but even so, too much space now that…”

His voice cracks, but Charly knows – too much space now that Friedhelm is no more…

Viktor shakes his head and swiftly raises from his seat by the piano.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow or next week. You two take care now…”

Charly thinks she understands him. It is not that he is hostile. More like it hurts him too much – seeing Wilhelm and herself, while Greta…

Even in her thoughts, she cannot make herself go on and dwell on Greta now, just like Wilhelm cannot make himself finish off his sentence about Friedhelm, and Viktor can hardly look at them both.

Charly briefly wonders if from now people are always going to stammer and glance away whenever flaying an old wound. There are so many visible and invisible wounds. The whole city of Berlin is just one giant hospital with people plagued with pain of their memories, and half-destroyed buildings whose beams and blackened walls stick out just like arms and legs of dying soldiers brought to the hospital after the battle.

Charly and Wilhelm. Once childhood friends, or even more than that. Now hardly friends out of necessity, or even less than that...

They wander along the streets – if one can call these narrow passages amidst the rubble, bricks, and shards of glasses so. Initially it was decided that Wilhelm would merely see Charly off to her place.

“Hardly the best time for a girl to walk on the streets alone now.” Wilhelm says grimly.

Charly wants to say that after the curfew, her military nurse certificate might probably prove a slightly better defense against any stray soldier’s advances, but she looks up at Wilhelm - in the dusk, his face is greyer, and his shirt lighter – and nods her assent.

Somehow they end up going in circles over and over to avoid passing by a half-demolished shop where they used to buy sweets, or a tiny park with leaf-less trees bearing traces of air-burst shells where they often played after school, or Babylon cinema where they would sit at the very back row – Viktor and Greta in the middle - giggling and holding hands - and the others usually on the edges, so that no one would notice Viktor in the place where Jews were forbidden to enter.

It is just like on that New Year’s Eve night – how many – six or seven years ago? – when they hurried (or rather sauntered) to Greta’s place – no, she won’t think of Greta now! – only this time, Charly’s heart does not flutter but throbs heavily. Each heart-beating echoes heavy steps of the man who plods beside her – his hand shaking slightly as he tries to light yet another cigarette.

“Where do you get your cigarettes?” She asks – partly just to break this silence and partly because it is indeed a life and death question now.

“Vater has them plenty in stock… He had a stroke… just a month ago, and Mutter put them all in my bedroom while he was at the hospital. For him to avoid temptation. Temporarily, as she tells him, and hopes to quietly exchange them for more food and coal coupons in the fall… Neither of them knows I’m making heavy use of his storage. There will hardly be anything left by the time we do need coal.”

Wilhelm speaks falteringly and tonelessly. As if having memorized the speech by heart and now struggling to remember his words. His face occasionally twitches.

When Charly takes him by the hand – to help with the matches – it is limp and cold. Even in this humid August evening, heavy with mosquitos and odor from the wrecked sewers by the river Spree. She shivers

“I think we’ve taken the wrong way.”

At first, Wilhelm does not react. He stands very still and watches her swift fingers over his – fumbling with the matches - with impassionate curiosity. Then, as if just woken, he starts.

 “Sorry. I… I’m just not that good with directions as of lately… For some reason, I keep getting lost… You might think quite the opposite would the case…And yet… Just the other day… I went for a walk – at least I think it was for a walk… but it might have been for something else... and on my way back, couldn’t find our apartment building. They all look the same now. Burnt and…”

“It’s okay. That happens.” Charly tries to speak softly.

“I kept circling the area...” Wilhelm goes own as if to himself. “Maybe, for an hour… No, surely, longer… Maybe, for a day… They are all the same now. Days. Streets. Buildings. People even… Sorry. I’m rambling. Don’t worry. That happens to me sometimes in the evening.”

“Wilhelm, it’s really okay... I don’t mind. It’s just that it’s not safe. The streets might still be mined, and it is not so easy to see the signs in the dark. I don’t want to risk.”

“Is it really such a bad ending?” He talks very quietly. She is not even sure he has really uttered these words.

“After all we’ve been through? I don’t think so.”

His face twitches again.

“Yes, I guess you’re right…”

She does not let go of his hand, and all the way to Charitéplatz  feels his fingers warming up in hers.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine getting back? I’d ask you in but you see… my roommates…” Charly asks as they stand by the only whole three-storied building adjacent to the Charité hospital that was recently claimed as dorms by the medical workers.

 “You forget  I’ve walked all the way to Berlin after I deserted. I’m not that hopeless, and – believe it or not -  not completely out of my mind either…”

Under the lantern by the front porch, Charly sees Wilhelm’s lips moving in an awkward imitation of a smile. Just like on that day in 44th – when she saw him alive –in spite of everything - in that ugly uniform, among other doomed soldiers. So small and lost. So her very own.

“I’m sorry.” She says suddenly looking him straight in the eye. “For… well, you know… that day…”

He blinks, and his face takes on a bewildered look.

“No... God, Charly, what are you apologizing for? It’s me who should…”

“I had no right...” She interrupts hastily. “It doesn’t matter how I felt back then – I simply had no right to talk to you like I did… I should have learnt my lesson better by that time. To think of that…You could have… These could have been my last words to you…”

“No.” Wilhelm says again with grim determination. “It’s me who didn’t want to learn any lessons. I was a bad friend to you, Charly. A bad brother to Friedhelm. A bad officer too and hardly a better soldier. I’ve let everyone down… Once I used to think of myself as better and stronger than others. Righteous warrior. And now… my father calls me a coward… And you know what? I’ve been thinking a lot. Something I wasn’t used to before this war, huh?.. Well, it turns out my father’s right in some way. Not because I deserted the army and left behind the war I no longer believed in but because I refused to see the futility of this war earlier. I should have realized what’s going on with our country and us. But no - I was too proud and besotted with our earlier success. Because it was so much easier to go with the flow, and march on, and believe in my father’s golden dream. Deutschland über alles, dammit!”

Wilhelm almost shouts the first words of the now-forbidden anthem, and Charly pulls at his sleeve.

“Hush! Someone might overhear!”

His face that has just been ablaze falls. He ends almost in whisper.

 “It took me my whole regiment… it took me Friedhelm… to finally realize… _the only victors in this war are flies_ …and when I did realize this, it was too late. Too late to change anything... You know, these last few months… I’ve not only been wandering around. I’ve read newspapers – new and old - making up for the time lost… Charly, I’ve been thinking… I know now that not everyone was following the flow. I  should have  – could have done something – just like others did – von Stauffenberg, for instance - I was an officer after all. I could have influenced my people somehow.”

The strained urgency in his voice. How familiar it was. She too was no stranger to self-laceration once… She too tried to go with the flow.

“I know the feeling.” Charly says quietly. 

“Do you? Really?”

“Yes… I’ve done a few things I now wish I hadn’t done.” She answers and for the umpteenth time, turns over the beads of her memory. Lilja. Doctor Jahn. Wilhelm. Yes, him too. “But guess what? You’ve been doing what you believed in and thought right at that time. Now you know better.”

“Yes.” Wilhelm repeats bitterly. Separating each word from another. “Now… I… know better...”

Charly looks up at him. No, wrong… They are almost the same height. How has she not noticed this before? She’s been looking up at him ever since that day he came back from Poland, handsome, so grown-up, and oh so manly looking to her 18-year-old self. Maybe, that was the whole problem… Well, not anymore.

“Wilhelm,” She says gently. “You’ve done something quite important though. Once you stopped believing in what they were drilling into us, you quit, didn’t you? You quit – were caught  – and quit again. And you’ve just admitted to me that you were wrong in so many things. You’ve quit the war, but you’re not running from truth. That’s  already so much more than what most people would have done.”

Wilhelm frowns, shakes his head, but at least, he listens to her now – not to his dark brooding thoughts.

Charly smiles, and her smile is warm and a bit sad.

“If you stop by next Saturday, my off-duty day, I’ll show you the flowers and vegetables girls and I planted at the back yard. The Russians made our POWs dig all over the place – searching for mines –  well, we thought we might as well use their best efforts.”

Wilhelm watches her as if she is suddenly speaking Japanese, and still does not say anything.

“Yes, flowers.” Her voice is somewhat shy but caring. “And after, we – you, Viktor, and I - can go to the concert. Did you know that Bersarin[17] is all for re-opening the Berlin Philarmonic Orchestra? My roommate was at their rehearsal last week. Guess what? She really liked that new version of Katyusha[18].”

“Charly…” Wilhelm looks at her incredulously but not unkindly. “Flowers, Philarmonic Orchestra, what else now? You know what… you reminded me of Greta.”

Charly falters, and her smile pales.

The lantern flickers. It must be well after ten pm.

The sky is cloudy and dark. The shadowy ruins, and sickly sweetish smell of… decomposing bodies – buried deep under.

Greta. Sonja. Friedhelm. Her mom and dad. Hundreds of boys – delirious on the hospital cots and surgery tables.

Charly takes a small step back.

But now it’s Wilhelm who is after her.

“I’m such an idiot, Charly,” He says miserably. “I could never make myself tell you the right things.”

His gaunt face. He too is haunted.

She makes an effort and steadily returns his stare.

“Yes.” She says. “Greta would have definitely had fun with Katyusha.”

“Probably would have said she could sing so much better…”

Both chuckle quietly and fall silent.

“It’s even harder for Viktor.” Charly says after a while. “We mustn’t leave him alone now.”

“Right. I know.”

They sit on the dilapidated steps of the Charité place dorms and look at each other for a long – very long - time.

A small star or two twinkle in between the clouds. Or is it the lantern light reflecting in Wilhelm’s eyes?

 “I think I’d like to see those flowers and vegetables you’ve planted after all.”

“Good.”

“Well… I guess I’ll see you around next Saturday then?”

“Sure. Come around five pm.”

“Charly?”

“Yes?”

“Um… thanks for being there for me.”

“Same here.”

There will be time, Charly thinks, Saturday, and after. Time to talk and reminisce, worry about jobs and food rations, help and be good to those who need it and those who don’t too, maybe fall in love again – or not - and – most importantly – live for both, themselves, and those who have not come back to their little pub. Greta would have wanted that. Friedhelm, and Charly’s parents too.

_“Ich wünsche dir dass du dein Glück bald findest.”_

_“Pass auf dich auf, Charly.”_

Charly has learnt it the hard way, but now she knows. Sometimes one just has to let it go.

 

[1] The group of younger boys (10 – 14 years old) in Hitler Jugend.

[2] The troop of four squads of girls which consists of about 40 members. 

[3] mandatory working in agriculture and/or operating kindergartens and schools in villages while living in camps; was introduced in 1939

[4] Certificate of excellence

[5] Regional leader

[6] Green lanyards were worn by  the heads of Mädelschar

[7] Finally you’re here

[8] Wishing all the best on your birthday

[9] Happy New Year

[10] Yours

[11] Greetings from Paris. Hope everything is well. Yours, W.

[12] German Red Cross

[13] Does he talk about me sometimes?

[14] Men never know. They only fight.

[15] No, you’re supposed to be dead. All this time I…

[16] Swing dance is forbidden

[17]Nikolai Bersarin was the city commandant in East Berlin  

[18] Popular Russian song that was re-sung in German sometime after the war. Here’s one of the many versions of this song: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2rPxDGi6Ow>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of 'getting together'/nostalgia stuff. Not sure... Is it too slow-paced? Too many details?  
> Oh well... I guess I'm just overreacting. For some reason, it is so difficult to write Wilhelm. Anyway, as usual, I'm open for your opinions.


End file.
